


A House Without Kindness

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: ADCU
Genre: F/M, Haunting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: Little glimpses into life in your new home in Colorado Springs, and the grumpy ghost that's come with it.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

A sliding glass door opens to allow you to step out onto the small concrete slab that serves as a patio, your gaze sweeping along the expanse of the back yard. The click of heels beside you pulls your attention back to the realtor who’s smiling at you as if she knows she’s got you hooked.

“As you can see, the back yard has plenty of space for dogs or kids or little get-togethers with friends. You’ve even got enough room to start a garden if that’s what you’re into.”

You hum in acknowledgement, head nodding along with the sound as your eyes once again survey the outside space. _She isn’t wrong_ , you think to yourself, now turning to head back inside for one last look. The house is a bit dated, but everything seems to be in working order, not to mention you’ve been on the hunt for a home now for nearly a month. The cosmetics are the least of your worries, that can always be fixed later. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

This home checks off every box on your list: good neighborhood, close to downtown yet still in the suburbs, small enough for yourself but big enough for when your family or friends visit, and most importantly, it’s within your budget.

“Are there any offers on the home yet,” you inquire curiously, hand skimming the top of the formica counter.

The realtor smiles, her head shaking from side to side. “No. None yet. You’re actually the first to look at it. It’s only been on the market for a day.”

 _Perfect. More wiggle room to negotiate the selling price_ , you think as you return the smile.

“Fantastic. I’d like to put an offer in.”

———————————–

Metal glides against metal as you slide your key into the deadbolt, unlocking the door for the first time since finalizing your purchase of the ranch style home. Everything had gone off without so much as a hitch; the buyer had been willing to take your offer of less than what they’d been asking, and the inspection came back clean as a whistle. With a gentle push, you open the door and pocket the key, stepping inside to take a look around at the empty home. The movers are due to arrive within the hour, and soon enough, the home will be filled with your belongings, making the empty space feel every bit as lived in as you’d imagined.

Quiet steps carry you further into the home, your eyes scanning the master bedroom once you step inside, mentally mapping out how you’d like the room to look. You’re in the midst of your thoughts when a thump can be heard, seemingly coming from one of the other rooms. A chill runs along your spine, the sensation of unease dousing your veins like ice water. Tentatively, you step out into the hallway, taking a moment to stop and listen. _Had the noise truly come from inside_ , you wonder.

Your gaze flits about the space, ears straining to listen, and just when you’re about to chalk it up to an outside source, you hear it… Footsteps on the hardwood in the living room.

The steady thrum of your heart picks up its pace, now beating rapidly against your rib cage as you take a moment to continue to listen, mind reeling at the sound. Surely no one’s broken in. After all, you’d only just entered yourself.

No. No, there just has to be a reasonable explanation for this.

“Hello,” you call out, stepping out of the hallway and into the living room, finding it every bit as empty as it’d been when you’d made your way into the master bedroom. With a nervous sweep of your gaze you survey the space, listening for any sign that the potential intruder has moved into another part of the home.

Tentatively, you move throughout the room, nearing the kitchen when you hear the creak of a floorboard behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck raise in warning when the sudden sensation of someone at your back can be felt. Your breath hitches, fingers curling inward towards your palms to form two fists, prepared to fight if need be.

A knock at the front door sounds, breaking the sudden silence within the home and startling you. With a yelp, you whirl around, discovering that you’re all alone in the room. A second knock sounds, and quickly, you cross the living room to pull it open, finding one of the moves on the other side. Relief washes over you, as does the sudden crash of reality.

You’d been alone this entire time. That feeling, the one you’d been _so sure_ _of_ , had all been in your mind.

Hadn’t it?


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight peaks in through the branches of the Boxelder tree you sit beneath in the back yard, chasing away some of the shadow that’d covered you mere moments ago. Your head tips back to rest against the tree’s trunk, peering up at the leaves that are so vivid, so vibrant in their oranges and reds and it looks as if the tree itself is on fire. You smile to yourself and allow your eyes to close as you bask in the gentle touches of the sun’s warmth that breaks through the cool shadows that still cast across your skin.

You’ve been in this home for a month now, and barring the strange incident on move in day, you hadn’t had a single ounce of strange occurrences since. In fact, you’d gone so far as to rationalize what had happened, pushing it to the back of your mind without so much as giving it another thought. Instead, you’ve spent the better portion of the month redoing the bathroom.

Gone are the seafoam green tile walls and floor, along with the matching vanity and god forsaken carpeted floor— _who puts carpet in a bathroom, anyway_?

It’s been a tedious few weeks, but you’ve managed to replace everything short of the plumbing yourself, and now, the hard work has paid off. Your plan is to start with small projects like this, work your way around the home and spruce it up until it’s as updated and up to snuff as you like.

The mere thought has you humming happily to yourself as your head tips down and your eyes open to look out towards the back of the home.

Any and all happy sounds dissipate immediately, as does the smile that’d just adorned your face. Standing there just behind the glass sliding door, peering out at you from inside the home, is a man. The view is a sobering one, sending a sensation much like ice water throughout your veins. Neither of you move, your eyes locked on one another as you simply… _assess_.

His hands are stuffed deep into the front pockets of his jeans, and he looks to be wearing a red and black flannel button down. He’s a bit too far away, but you think that you may be able to make out a pinched brow and downturned lips. Is he _scowling_?

Your heart thumps wildly within your chest, beating against your rib cage with a new found ferocity at the realization that there’s someone in your home. Rising up from your spot beneath the tree, you look away for only a second, but when you return your gaze to the sliding glass door, the man is gone.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, and you know— _you know_ that going inside of the home is not the smartest move you’ve ever made, but you also can’t stay out here forever.

The glass door slides open once you step up onto the wooden deck, and you dare to peek your head inside. The kitchen and living room are both empty, and the house is seemingly silent as you step in and carefully close the door behind you.

“Hello,” you call out, hands wringing nervously as you hurriedly make your way to the knife block near the stove. You pull the longest, sharpest blade from the confines of the wooden block and turn to make your way through the home, casing each room for the man you’d seen. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but if you’re here to rob me, I’ll have you know that I’m armed.”

Again, you’re met with silence, and room by room you slowly come to the realization that you’re alone in the home.

Had the man been a figment of your imagination?

Surely not. He was too real, too vivid…

Stepping into the newly renovated bathroom, you set the knife down onto the counter top and grip the edge of the vanity with your hands. Your head tips down, eyes closing as you breathe in and out, in and out in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves.

_“You shouldn’t have done that.”_

The words cut through your body like a hot knife, each and every muscle tensing in preparation for a fight as you whip around, fully prepared to find the man standing behind you. Only…

There is no one.

But the words had been _so clear_ …

Yet again, your heart beats a rapid staccato—an automatic response to the sudden emergence of disembodied words.

You’re losing it. Surely you have to be.

You must.

There is no other explanation.

But when you turn to face the vanity once more, your gaze lifts and locks with that of the man who peers back at you from the mirror’s reflection. He’s standing directly behind you, that same pinched gaze as he’d worn in the doorway still present now.

Surely this isn’t…

 _It can’t be_.

Ghosts aren’t _real_ …

Right?


End file.
